Clandestine Confessions

We were driving home from dinner in Park City when the song started playing.
Ever so quietly heard in the slight pause of our conversation.
“Agnes” by Glass Animals.
One of the most tragically beautiful songs I have ever heard.
There has never been a time of listening to it when I have not cried.
Tonight was no exception.
The tears were already forming.
–
“One of my favorite songs of all time,” I told him as I gazed out the window, becoming so completely overcome by the capacity of how much emotion the human body can feel.
The evening, the scenery, the moon, the company, the music…
He turned up the volume slightly, a smile slightly forming when he caught on to which song was playing.
“It is a great one,” he replied.
We talked a bit about it – our mutually favorite part of the song, the lyrics, the story behind it, the band singing it.
And the thought crossed my mind (for much longer than felt comfortable) to disclose to him a piece of my past.
To share about my personal Agnes – the deeper meaning as to why I seek comfort in this song.
Which would bring an end to my anonymity.
I trusted him with my story, but I also knew once I spoke it, there was no going back.
Was I prepared to leave being “just Jenna” behind…?
–
This was not the first time I felt the pull to come out of hiding.
It has been tugging at me ever since the summer.
I was driving through Colorado on my way to dinner when I was notified.
Another precious life lost to the same darkness in which I once dwelled.
“No, no, no, no, no, no God,” I whispered.
I went to her Facebook profile hoping it was a mistake.
But all I saw was the gut wrenching confirmation.
“No, no, no, no.” This time a bit louder.
I saw her photo beneath one of the posts.
Memories accompany her smiling face.
Tears accompany the remembrances.
“Please no….” Now a desperate plea.
Followed by a guttural cry.
–
There I was on this cross country road trip gaining life while someone lost hers.
The grief with each death only going deeper the more alive I become; knowing now what they will never get to experience – the love.
The laughter.
The joy.
The living in the KNOWING you will be okay.
A knowing that gives an indescribable peace and freedom.
–
I pulled into a gas station to catch my breath.
I felt anger – an overwhelming, suffocating anger.
I felt guilt – not for surviving but for what I have not done with that second chance.
–
Over the words I never spoke.
Over the truths I never shared.
Over the hope I never offered.
Over the light I kept hidden.
–
So I sat in that parking lot and I made a video – one that would reattach myself to the association of certain fragments of my past.
But I never posted it.
Just like I never ended up saying anything more about the song to my friend in the car….
–
Because I was still scared – that same fear that drove the decision into secrecy lingering.
Anxiety over all that my transparency could cause me to lose – people, reputation, approval, credibility.
Love…
A root that then branched off into doubt.
And shame.
And worthlessness.
It all felt like a higher cost than I could afford.
–
Until recently…
When I a photo of my “Agnes” fell out of a pile of papers I was sorting through.
A picture I have not had the emotional capacity to see for a few years now.
For it was taken at a time she felt the happiest.
A time just mere months before she would take her life.
And in that moment, looking into her eyes, I felt the heavy price anonymity has asked of me.
Suddenly my silence gained a deafening sound – the cries of hurting people looking for hope.
Seeking life.
Needing a light.
A deep pain abounding with every second I continued to stay quiet amidst the shouts of people searching for answers.
–
And so, I had to ask myself, which would I rather pay?
To be “seen” by the world?
Or to help those overlooked be seen in the world?
–
So here I am.
Declaring an end to my hiatus.
Announcing my re-entry into a once familiar territory.
Not as a citizen.
But not as a foreigner either.
A nomad to the land – freedom to come and go when I feel the call. Always having the choice of how long I want to stay or how long to stay away.
–
This story is meant to be one of remembrance, not forgetting.
May the remaining chapters be a reflection of that purpose; a beautiful redemption of all the memories that have paved the way to reach the life I now live.
So I can teach others how to do the same…